During its heyday, the Dew Drop played host to some of the greatest black entertainers around. Pictured here are Joe Fox on drums, Joe Tillman on sax, Curtis Mitchell on piano and an unnamed dancer.

Courtesy of the Ralston Crawford Collection of New Orleans Jazz Photography, Hogan Jazz Archive, Tulane University

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Originally published on August 24, 2015 2:55 pm

It was known as the "Swankiest Night Spot in the South" and considered one of the most famous clubs in the network of black cabarets known as the "Chitlin' Circuit." During the era of segregation, it was the cultural mecca of black New Orleans — what the Savoy Ballroom was to Harlem. Little Richard, a frequent performer there, even composed a song about the place.

The Dew Drop Inn closed its doors in 1972, after a 34-year run during which it featured some of the greatest R&B and soul artists who ever lived. Now, there's a new effort to rescue and reopen the Dew Drop for a new generation.

Located behind a modest storefront on LaSalle Street in Mid-City, the Dew Drop was actually a complex of businesses.

"It was just a place where you could come, you could eat, you could listen to music," says Kenneth Jackson, the current owner of the Dew Drop. "If you got too drunk, you could go and rent a room in the hotel. You could go next door and get your hair cut. My grandfather, he loved to have a place where you could go to have fun."

Jackson is a big man in a sweat-soaked work shirt, the dean of students at a local high school. His grandfather was the redoubtable Frank Painia, who opened the club in 1938.

The restaurant was famous for its red beans and rice, cooked with pig tails. The inexpensive hotel was popular among musicians (Ray Charles crashed there back in the day). And the stage of the two-story "Groove Room" hosted some of the greatest black American entertainers of the day --like Mabel Louise Smith, known as Big Maybelle.

The Dew Drop also featured more eclectic entertainment: drag queens Sir Lady Java and Patsy Valadeer, a tap dancer with a wooden leg named Peg Leg Bates, the ventriloquist Calhoun with his dummy, Society Red, and Iron Jaw, who picked up patrons in their chairs with his teeth. The club hosted an annual Halloween Ball for cross-dressers every year that became a legend. New Orleans saxophonist Charles Neville once called the creative atmosphere of the Dew Drop "a subculture within a subculture."

Local bandleader Deacon John Moore got his start at the Dew Drop in its 1950s heyday. He says the scene outside the club was just as entertaining as it was inside.

"There was the pimps and the players and the hookers and the B-drinkers; there were the card sharks and the people with the dice games," Moore says. "There was just a huge assortment of musicians — jazz musicians, R&B musicians, blues musicians, traveling musicians who would stop by all the time, because this was the place."

The Dew Drop was also popular among white patrons who knew where to find the hottest floor show in town. Painia welcomed everyone, even though Section 5-61-1 of the city code prohibited race mixing:

"It shall be unlawful for any person to sell any of the beverages on the premises under the same roof to both whites and Negroes unless the space where said whites and Negroes are served is divided by a solid partition from floor to ceiling without any openings whatever therein."

Frank Painia did not have a "solid partition" to separate his patrons, and he paid the price, his grandson Kenneth Jackson says.

"There were instances where the police would come in and find white people in the place, arrest everybody in here and take 'em downtown and charge 'em with racial mixing," Jackson says. "Well, that went on until he just got tired of being harassed about it. And he ended up filing a lawsuit."

In 1964, Frank Painia sued the City of New Orleans in federal court, on the grounds that the race-mixing ordinance was unconstitutional. Before a judge had a chance to rule on it, President Lyndon Johnson signed into law the Civil Rights Act of 1964, ending segregation of public accommodations.

White and black patrons were suddenly free to mingle in any nightspot across the city. But Painia's ideal — legal integration — actually contributed to the Dew Drop's demise.

"Black clubs and black neighborhood businesses that had live entertainment in general started losing their customers in that fashion," Irma Thomas says. She sang at the Dew Drop Inn in the early '60s, when she was a teenager, and went on to become the Soul Queen of New Orleans.

As the Dew Drop's audiences shrank, Painia's health declined. The club closed its double metal doors the year he died, in 1972. The hotel stayed open for a few long-term tenants until Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005. Flooding damaged the downstairs and propwash from rescue helicopters blew pieces of the building off. Today, the historic building is in sad shape.

La'Kedra Robertson, a community-engagement consultant working with Jackson, says they hope the Dew Drop will become a place musicians can call home again.

"They can come for practice; they can network with other artists," she says. "I just think it's gonna be a hub, and a haven, for artists to find the true grit and authenticity of what real good music is."

The old building is waiting for them. The original sign still hangs above the door out front: "Dew Drop Inn: Hotel, Lounge, and Restaurant."

"You know, I don't have any doubt that it'll return to its former glory," Jackson says. "It may not be exactly the same, but people are gonna be able to come here and really enjoy themselves and say that they've had a good time."

In a city that knows how to have a good time, people are watching to see if the Dew Drop Inn will swing again.

Copyright 2017 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

STEVE INSKEEP, HOST:

We have an update - the first in decades, really - on the swankiest nightspot in the South. During the era of segregation, The Dew Drop Inn was the cultural mecca of black New Orleans. It closed its doors in 1972, after a 34-year run, during which The Dew Drop Inn featured the greatest rhythm and blues and soul artists who ever lived. Now there's an effort to rescue and reopen The Dew Drop Inn for a new generation. NPR's John Burnett reports.

JOHN BURNETT, BYLINE: The Dew Drop Inn was one of the most famous clubs in the network of black cabarets known as the Chitlin Circuit. It was to the city of New Orleans what the Savoy Ballroom was to Harlem.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "DEW DROP INN")

LITTLE RICHARD: (Singing) Meet your fine gals, buddies and your pals, down in New Orleans on a street they call LaSalle. Down at The Dew Drop Inn, you meet all your fine friends.

BURNETT: Little Richard, a frequent performer there, composed this song about the place located behind a modest storefront on LaSalle Street in Mid-City, the Dew Drop was actually a complex of businesses.

KENNETH JACKSON: It was just a place where you could come - you could eat. You could listen to music.

BURNETT: Kenneth Jackson is current owner of the Dew Drop.

JACKSON: If you got too drunk, you could go and rent a room in a hotel. You could go next door and get your hair cut. My grandfather just - he loved to have a place where you could go to have fun.

BURNETT: Jackson is a big man in a sweat-soaked work shirt who's dean of students at a local high school. His grandfather was the redoubtable Frank Painia, who opened the club in 1938.

(SOUNDBITE OF LITTLE RICHARD SONG, "DEW DROP INN")

BURNETT: The restaurant was famous for its red beans and rice cooked with pig tails. The inexpensive hotel was popular among musicians; Ray Charles crashed there back in the day. And the stage of the two-story groove room featured some of the greatest black American entertainers of the day, like Mabel Louise Smith, known as Big Maybelle.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "CANDY")

LOUISE SMITH: (Singing) Candy, why I call my sugar candy.

BURNETT: The Dew Drop featured drag queens Sir Lady Java and Patsy Valadeer, a tap dancer with a wooden leg named Peg Leg Bates, the ventriloquist Calhoun and his dummy, Society Red, and Iron Jaw, who picked up patrons in their chairs with his teeth. Local bandleader Deacon John got his start at the Dew Drop in its heyday in the 1950s.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "JUMPIN' IN THE MORNING")

JOHN MOORE: (Singing) Well, now baby, tell me, how do you do? Oh Lord baby, tell me how do you do?

BURNETT: Deacon John remembers the scene outside the club was just as entertaining as it was inside.

MOORE: Aw, then there was the pimps and the players and the hookers and the B-drinkers. (Laughter) There were the card sharks and the people with the dice games. And there was just a huge assortment of musicians, you know, jazz musicians, R&B musicians, blues musicians, traveling musicians who would stop by all the time because this was the place.

BURNETT: The Dew Drop was popular among white patrons who knew where to find the hottest floor show in town. Painia welcomed everyone, even though Section 5-61-1 of the city code prohibited race mixing. It's read here by Chianta Dorsey, an archivist at the Amistad Research Center at Tulane University.

CHIANTA DORSEY: (Reading) It shall be unlawful for any person to sell any of the beverages on the premises under the same roof to both whites and Negroes unless the space where said whites and Negroes are served is divided by a solid partition from floor to ceiling without any openings whatever therein.

BURNETT: Frank Painia did not have a solid partition to separate his patrons, and he paid the price, says grandson Kenneth Jackson.

JACKSON: There were instances where the police would come in and just - if they'd find white people in the place, they'd arrest everybody in here and take them downtown and charge them with racial mixing. Well, that went on until he just got tired of being harassed about it, and he ended up filing a lawsuit.

BURNETT: In 1964, Frank Painia sued the city of New Orleans in federal court, claiming the race-mixing ordinance was unconstitutional. Before a judge had a chance to rule on it, President Lyndon Johnson signed into law the Civil Rights Act of 1964 that ended segregation of public accommodations. White and black patrons were suddenly free to co-mingle in any nightspot across the city. Painia's ideal of legal integration actually contributed to the Dew Drop's demise.

IRMA THOMAS: Black clubs and black neighborhood businesses that had live entertainment, in general, started losing their customers in that fashion. Once integration hit, of course, it was like, OK, the door's open, let's go try it.

BURNETT: Irma Thomas sang at The Dew Drop Inn in the early '60s when she was a teenager. She went on to become the Soul Queen of New Orleans.

BURNETT: As the Dew Drop's audiences shrank, Painia's health declined. The club closed its double metal doors the year he died, in 1972. The hotel stayed open for a few long-term tenants until Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005. Flooding damaged the downstairs and propwash from rescue helicopters blew pieces of the building off. Kenneth Jackson leads the way through the historic building, which is in sad shape.

JACKSON: And if you go up a little further, watch your step right here. Let me turn some lights on for you. You're going to see another spot where the stage was.

BURNETT: Next month, Jackson, along with Harmony Neighborhood Development and the Milne Inspiration Center, will kick off a campaign to raise $3.5 million to reinvent the Dew Drop. They're thinking about a nightclub-hotel-restaurant that is a business and also a training center for young people interested in the hospitality industry. And La'Kedra Robertson, a community engagement consultant working with Jackson, says they hope the Dew Drop will again become a place musicians can call home.

LA'KEDRA ROBERTSON: They can come for practice, they can network with other artists. I just think it's going to be a hub and a haven for artists who find the true grit and authenticity of which real good music is.

BURNETT: The old building is waiting for them. The original sign still hangs above the door out front, Dew Drop Inn, Hotel, Lounge, and Restaurant.

JACKSON: You know, I don't have any doubt that it'll return to its former glory. It may not be exactly the same, but people are going to be able to come here and really enjoy themselves and say that they've had a good time.

BURNETT: And in a city that knows how to have a good time, people are watching to see if The Dew Drop Inn will swing again. John Burnett, NPR News, New Orleans.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "DEW DROP INN")

LITTLE RICHARD: (Singing) I said let's go, children. Now don't you want to go, children? Come on with me, children. Down at The Dew Drop Inn, oh, yeah. Oh, baby, do come in. I need you at The Dew Drop Inn. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.